


Hawk's Cage

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [38]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: Natasha has been taken prisoner, and is escorted to a mysterious structure inhabited by another captive, whom the guards call the Hawk. Whatever he is, he seems to go through female companions quickly. Just the first scene.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.   
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate universe, which I own nothing from.

 

Natasha’s hands were bound, and her ankles were tied just far apart enough that she could shuffle along on her own. She was also drugged; her reactions were sluggish, and whenever she turned her head the world swirled in bold colors. Despite this, she thought she could take the two guards who were walking her through the cavernous warehouse; at the very least she would have the element of surprise, and that might be all she needed.

What stopped her was wondering what she would do after that.

She’d been brought in bound and sedated, but still remembered the view from the helicopter: snow, ice, bare rocks, grey sea tossing in the wake of a storm. She didn’t know if she was north or south, near civilization or far from it, and she could find herself free of her captors only to die of exposure within days. It wasn’t like her to not take risks; but there was risky, and then there was suicidal. She judged it more prudent to gather further intel, and then plan her escape.

They were walking by a canvas curtain that went straight up to the ceiling, or at least disappeared in the inky darkness long before Natasha saw the top of it. It appeared to be draped over something, and as they approached a secure doorway one of the guards began idly tapping on the surface underneath the curtain.

“He hates that,” warned the other guard.

The first one smirked nastily. “So?” The other shrugged as if there were no help for people who insisted on being foolish. “Just lettin’ him know we’re bringing him a new toy,” he added, obviously hoping to inspire fear in Natasha. She would cop to being disconcerted but nothing more. “Make that a _chew_ toy,” he went on, increasing his efforts at malevolence. He tapped on the canvas harder. “Considering what happened to that Indian lady.”

“You’re just going to get him riled up, Mike,” said the other guard, shaking his head.

“What do _I_ care?” Mike protested. “He can’t get out. Here, check out your new cage,” he ordered Natasha, lifting a corner of the canvas. The wall beneath it, curiously, was clear, as if made of some kind of plexiglass; and behind it were indeed bars, like a jail cell. Beyond that faint lights shown in the interior, but before Natasha could focus on them something leaped at them, rattling the wall and snarling. All three of them jumped backwards and the canvas was dropped before Natasha could get a good look at the creature.

“Great, now he’s angry,” the more cautious guard pointed out. “He gets mad, he trashes the place, Betty has a ton of extra work to do, and all I hear is complaints.”

As far as ratcheting up her discomfort went, Natasha was now willing to admit they were making progress.

“Stupid freak,” Mike muttered sullenly, embarrassed to have been startled. He banged on the wall once more but didn’t lift the canvas.

“Let’s just get her inside,” his partner prompted, as if he had much more important things to get back to. He typed a code into the keypad by the door; he didn’t bother hiding it so Natasha presumed it changed often. The door hissed open and she saw there was an inner door, which presumably wouldn’t open until the first one had resealed.

Mike gave Natasha a final shove into the foyer; her bound feet tangled up and she tripped, landing hard on her hands and knees. “Oops,” he said obnoxiously. Natasha’s head spun and his face distorted in her view, though sadly not because she’d hit him repeatedly.

“Great, Mike, just great,” his partner griped, unimpressed.

Mike was defending himself indignantly when the outer door hissed shut, mercifully cutting him off. Though listening to Mike whine might indeed have been better than facing whatever was on the other side of the inner door, which was now starting to open. Natasha’s first desperate, ineffective plan was to just stay in the foyer. But after several seconds of staring into the dim interior of the… cell, the intercom near her head crackled to life.

“ _Go through the doorway_ ,” the non-Mike guard told her impatiently. “ _Or we electrify the floor_.”

“ _Hope the Hawk likes his dinner well-done_ ,” Mike cackled in the background.

“Untie me,” Natasha replied. She really _was_ compromised if they sent her in there with her hands and feet bound, aside from the drugs.

“ _You’ll figure it out_ ,” the guard said without concern. “ _Move!_ ”

Natasha didn’t know if the floor could really be electrified. And frankly she didn’t want to find out. She couldn’t get back up to her feet on her own, so she was forced to crawl over the threshold. The inner door shut behind her, sealing itself implacably. Someone, presumably Mike, banged on the wall one last time for fun; the noise made her jump as it echoed around the room.

She scooted around and put her back to the door, eyes darting around the space trying to separate reality from the drug swirls. Neither made much sense. As her eyes got used to the dim lighting she began to wonder if this cell was larger than she would’ve supposed, much larger, especially the ceiling height. She also thought she saw the outlines of furniture scattered around—a bed, a couch, bookshelves, a TV. Increasingly bizarre.

But no movement. And no sound. The room was silent, except perhaps for a little white noise machine humming. Nothing to indicate there was something angry and snarling about to pounce on her.

Then again, there wouldn’t be, would there?

Natasha set about untying her feet first. The knots were tight; and she was hampered by the dim light, her unreliable vision, and the need to constantly check her surroundings. Her fingers ached; broken fibers in the rope cut into them. But eventually there was some give and that encouraged her to keep working. The drug seemed to be wearing off somewhat, and so far at least nothing had attacked her, though she didn’t want to become complacent.

Finally Natasha freed her ankles. The victorious feeling was short-lived, however, because now she had to do her hands, and they were bound so closely there was little to no give to work with. She would need to find something sharp to help her out.

She propelled herself to her feet, prepared to explore her new surroundings. She stuck to the outer wall, which was curved she finally realized, tracing it around to the large, comfortable-looking bed; a mini living room with a couch, fully-stocked shelves of books and DVDs, a large TV; and then the kitchenette. Right there in a drawer was a small serrated blade, like a steak knife. Who gave a dangerous prisoner a steak knife? She wasted no time putting it to use sawing laboriously through her rope, likely ruining it for any future dinner use.

And speaking of dinner—she wasn’t sure when she’d eaten last. There was no stove, she saw, but there was a microwave, and a refrigerator, and when she opened the fridge—hands still bound, but looser—she found it comfortingly full of fruits and vegetables, dairy products, Tupperware containers. She grabbed an apple and gnawed on it messily while continuing her progress on the rope.

Past the kitchen the wall jutted out into the interior of the room and there was an ordinary, unlocked pocket door. Before investigating further what lay beyond it, Natasha focused her efforts on the ropes and finally freed herself completely. She kept the knife firmly in hand as she slid the door aside, cautiously staying to the side before peeking her head around the corner.

It was a closet, a large walk-in closet, with built-in shelving. Not exactly what she was expecting. Mostly she saw men’s clothing, casual like t-shirts and sweatpants; but in one section was some women’s clothing, jeans and dresses crammed together in a too-small space as though forgotten about. A quick perusal revealed that, chillingly, they were in different sizes—no one woman could have comfortably worn all the items. A lower drawer was stuffed with bras and underwear of different sizes as well, like a chaotic Victoria’s Secret sale. Inside an already unusual prison cell they only added to Natasha’s confusion.

There was also a full bathroom accessed through the closet. So as far as cages went, it was well-gilded. But who would her captor go to all this trouble for? And where _was_ that person? This was a box designed for long-term storage, that you never had to leave, that you might not even _want_ to leave. But whoever she was now sharing it with was obviously not too friendly—he’d gone through too many female companions in the past.

The Hawk, Mike had called him. And she was the new chew toy.


End file.
